Legerdemain
by Sale el Sol
Summary: "Just because you're also Captain America doesn't mean that you stopped being human, you know, and it doesn't mean that you aren't allowed to ask for help when you need it." Steve RogersXOC
1. introductions

Steve Rogers was having difficulty adjusting. That shouldn't have been news to anyone, at this point - everyone had seen the news reels, updating everyone on the escapades of each of the Avengers, and the famous Captain America was no different, personal privacy be damned - but still, each and every person he met, under every circumstance, insisted on asking how he was coping once they knew who (or rather, what) he really was. The answer he gave was always the same.

"I'm doing just fine, thank you."

The truth he was feeling was always the same as well.

"Nothing is right, everything hurts on a scale that transcends the physical, and that mobile telephone that fits in your pocket wasn't even _dreamed_of the last time I was okay."

It wasn't just the technology, no, but the technology was certainly more a hindrance than a help. The first time he'd had to undergo a retinal scan had been terrifying, and he had been certain that that was the end for him - with all the stupid stunts that S.H.I.E.L.D. had asked him to pull, he was going to be killed by some sort of light-source, laser, really, projecting into his eye. Obviously, he had come away from the encounter with the retinal scan unscathed, but it was really the principle of the thing.

He'd defeated Loki with the help of the other Avengers, but Steve still struggled with getting the microwave to work on a particularly bad day. That wasn't even touching on the difficulties he was having with his mental faculties; they were all still there, of course, better than everyone else's, given his history with a certain super-serum. The problem he ran into was blocking things out, and not just the most recent. Steve Rogers just couldn't shake World War II, and being in this new world, so alien to him that it didn't even seem like America to begin with, was made worse by the fact that he was alone and without a companion.

Well, without a companion save Tony Stark. If Steve was being honest, he wasn't sure if Tony made things worse or better.

"So, Captain, figure out how to work the toaster yet today?"

In retrospect, Steve thought that Tony made things worse. On occasion, he would think of Tony as a kind man, a _good_one even, and Steve knew that, deep down, Tony really was all of those things. However, Tony was also irredeemably, truly, unequivocally a pain in the ass. As the bread popped up from aforementioned toaster, Steve's breakfast (or part of it, rather) was grabbed by the industrialist and unceremoniously eaten.

"Don't worry, I didn't want that." Steve deadpanned as he spoke, and Tony raised his eyebrows unassumingly, slice of toast still in his mouth as he turned to the other man. He removed the bread by his hand, and in mock concern, Tony spoke.

"Oh my, I didn't mean to offend, Captain. I only thought you could use more practice in your utilization of the toaster, given your affinity for technological encounters." With that, Tony finished off what had once been the beginnings of Steve's breakfast, and Steve fought off the urge to roll his eyes. Stark Industries (namely, Tony himself) had been kind enough to provide Steve with a place of residence; although he easily could have gotten one for himself, Tony had offered him a floor in Stark Tower. Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanova, and Clint Barton had been extended similar offers, but all refused. Bruce was uncomfortable with New York City, given his past history, and the pair of assassins opted out as well, citing a need for anonymity that they couldn't maintain in such a high-profile location. Thor, of course, had returned to Asgard.

The facility, though it made for a good residence, was also the embodiment of everything that Steve was having trouble accepting about the world, seventy years in the future. Stark Tower was technological advancement incarnate; Steve was sure he'd never get used to it. He had defeated Loki, and the Nazis before that, but what kind of man was he if he still had the occasional difficulty sending an e-mail? Tony procured an apple, even as Steve wandered blindly through his own thoughts, and tossed it in the taller man's direction. Steve was quick to catch it, fingers closing around the fruit in one fluid gesture and bringing it to his lips, stopping just short of taking a bite. Tony half-grinned, crossing his arms. "Sometimes, Rogers, I worry you're going to get lost in that head of yours; then I remember how small your brain must be in proportion to the rest of your body, and I realize it's much more realistic to be worried that you'll lose yourself in your thigh, or your trapezius."

Tony's passively concerned tone was not lost on Steve, and the blonde smiled halfheartedly, though he offered no verbal response. Once satisfied that he was not going to receive words in return, Tony turned and made for the stairs that led to his infamous lab, stopping only to offer a command to the tower's artificial intelligence.

"JARVIS, send up the snail mail, please. We both know how nostalgic our dear Captain gets."

"Right away, sir. Also, you asked for a reminder of Miss Potts' birthday."

"Already? Didn't she just have one?"

"One year ago, yes, sir."

Tony's voice faded as he descended into the lab, still speaking with JARVIS, and Steve was left alone to finally take a bite of the apple even as the mail arrived from ground level. More likely than not, it was junk, but he always held on to the hope of receiving a letter from someone. There was something about a letter that was so different from the detached feeling of an e-mail or text message, and, on top of that, to Steve, it was familiar. The postal service had fallen out of favor, but the system itself had changed little since his time seventy years ago.

He flipped through the small stack; his outstanding credit rating qualified him for a credit card, and there was a sale on Hugo Boss at the moment, and... Steve turned his head to the side. It was an envelope, white, wrinkled at the one edge. The return address was somewhere in Seattle, and the letter was addressed to him, his floor of Stark Tower specifically. The handwriting was cluttered, and a little messy, like this was a personal letter. Curiosity outweighing everything else, Steve slid his finger through the top of the envelope, pulling it open to reveal a two-page letter.

_Dear Steve,_

_Hope this doesn't inconvenience you in any way. My name is Vanessa, and I live in Seattle, Washington. Once upon a time, I would have thought it was odd to send letters to people that I found in a directory, but now, I just look at it as one surprise after another. Whether you write me back or not is entirely up to you; I just like to do this as a way to meet people, and, hopefully, to brighten your day. :)_

_Like I said, I'm Vanessa. I'm eighteen-years-old, and I'm a senior in high school, and my mother would be furious if she found out I was writing to strangers, to be honest with you. My mother works in interior design, but she'd be better suited to child protective services-_

Steve looked up, re-assessing what exactly was happening. She'd found his name in an online directory, and proceeded in sending him a letter, just for the fun of it?

_She'd be better suited to child protective services, to be honest. My mom's great, but a little overzealous in protection. It would be so big a deal, if she was attuned to the world, but she's not exactly good at the whole protection thing. _

_Enough about me, though, what about you? What do you do? How old are you? What's your favorite color? Any pets? What's your best friend's name? Or do you prefer to fly solo? By the way, Stark Tower is where you live, right? If that's so, do tell - is the infamous Tony Stark so awful and wonderful at the same time as we're all led to believe?_

_Maybe I'll hear from you soon, or maybe I won't. Either way, though, thank you so much for taking the time to read my letter. It means a lot more then you'll ever know._

_Have the most socially relevant of days,_  
_Vanessa Simmons_

To begin with, all Steve could think was, _'How odd_.' Steve liked letters, and that was not up for debate, but he hadn't been expecting one, not really, and especially not one from a high school girl in Seattle. He set the two sheets of paper down (by all accounts, it all should have fit on one sheet of paper, but this Vanessa had atrociously large handwriting) and leaned back in the chair he currently sat in.

He hadn't decided whether to write back or not, but, as he sat there, he rationalized, '_Why not?'_After all, what could it hurt? They were just letters, and after all, she was the whole country away. Despite this, Steve let the letter lay where he had originally set it down, and only then was he hit by the absurdity of everything.

He had just been handed exactly what he had been asking for, a form of correspondence that would take the edge off of his ongoing adjustment, not to mention a companion (in a sense) that wasn't Tony Stark. Normal human contact had been exactly what S.H.I.E.L.D. had suggested for him, and, thus far, he had almost entirely ignored that advice. Maybe this Vanessa Simmons wasn't what they had had in mind, but it would be harmless to carry it on, even if just for a little while.

She seemed lonely. He was lonely. It only seemed logical, really.

He picked up a blue ink pen, a rather dull choice given her own usage of a ballpoint green, and began the first letter he had written in over seventy years.

_Dear Va-_

"Sir?" JARVIS's voice shocked Steve, and, out of instinct more than anything else, he covered Vanessa's letter with the morning paper.

"Yes, JARVIS?" Steve would never grow used to most of Tony Stark's inventions, and, despite being actually quite fond of it, JARVIS was no exception to that rule.

"You are requested in the lab," JARVIS stated "for a demonstration."

No doubt Tony had some new toy that he wanted to show him, and Steve chuckled halfheartedly. "I'll be down in a moment, JARVIS."

"Yes, sir." Steve picked up the letter Vanessa had sent him, and left the one he'd began on the table, placing it in his pocket for safekeeping. The last thing he needed was Tony finding that, when all he ever complained about was Steve never leaving the tower.

He stood and walked, descending to the famous Stark's lair, uncomfortably dodging a robotic arm upon entry.

* * *

"_just getting used to waking up everyday." - Toya, "Moving On"_

* * *

**lex writes avengers fanfic 2k12 yeah? :) this is different for me, so any and all critiquing is encouraged, as well as, well, encouragement. thanks for reading, everybody! let me know if i'm keeping everyone in character, please? :)**


	2. responses

"He wrote back!" Vanessa Simmons screeched as she went through the letters on her kitchen table, grinning like a mad fool and whisking the one sheet of paper away to her bedroom, flopping on her bed, eyes scanning voraciously.

_Dear Vanessa,_

_I'm something of an old soul, so please forgive me if I'm less than good company; I've never really gotten the hang of e-mail and things like that with the way I grew up, so you don't know how happy your letter made me. My name is Steve, and I'm twenty-two years old; I was a soldier once, and I still am, truthfully. You never stop being one, once you start, and that's truer of me than many, I think._

_So, what did you want to know about me? My favorite color is probably blue, I think, a bit of nostalgia left over from my time in the army. No pets, no; I just moved in here, and I don't feel like intruding on Stark's hospitality quite yet. In a few weeks, maybe, I might get myself a dog. I could do with a companion other than the humble playboy Tony Stark. And on the subject of Tony Stark, he's everything you've heard in the press, and more. He's not the kind of person that can be described in words, and he certainly doesn't have a personality that can be put on paper._

_You could (arguably) call him my best friend, but that's certainly a topic up for debate. _

_And you, Miss Simmons? What of yourself? What do you plan on doing with your life one day? What possessed you to start sending letters to strangers in the hopes that they'd write back? I certainly am glad you did._

_Warmest regards,_  
_Steve Rogers_

He wrote back. He had written back, in boring, unoriginal blue ink, but he had written back! Vanessa could count on one hand the number of times that people had written her back, and she had been doing this for almost two years. A twenty-two-year-old former soldier, who _lived _with Tony Stark... Who would have figured?

Vanessa was spread out on her bed, and she stretched contentedly, wide smile still on her face, when she glanced at the clock. She rolled her eyes as she read the time - 6:03, and she'd just gotten home - for her mother would be home in roughly twenty-seven minutes, and dinner would probably be ready forty-five minutes after.

Vanessa Simmons, too, was having difficulty adjusting, though in an entirely different way from Steve Rogers. Familial strife like the young girl had never experienced had rocked Vanessa, her mother, and brother six months prior, and none of them had really recovered, though their mother acted as though they all had. Allison Simmons, their mother, upon the death of her husband, had extended parental tendrils into every facet of her children's lives. While Allison justified this by saying that it was her way of moving on, taking better care of her children than ever, this had done nothing but alienate her elder child.

In response, Chris, Vanessa's younger brother, had retreated into a world of imaginary superheroes, especially mythology, though he was no slouch in the tales of Iron Man and Captain America. Vanessa herself had responded by burying herself in her letters, something her father had held dear his entire life. Nathan Simmons had been especially fond of letters during his time in the Gulf, and the affection never left him; the legacy was carried on in his daughter.

The father, himself, was seldom referenced anymore in family life, despite the clear shadow of his ghost hanging over everything that was done.

Vanessa rolled off her bed, shaking the thoughts from her mind, reaching underneath it to retrieve a shoebox filled with postcards and three or four letters, placing the one from Steve inside. The last thing she needed was her mother finding a letter from some stranger in New York City in her room; if Allison had been overzealously protective before, Vanessa could only imagine the consequences of her mother's knowledge of Steve Rogers. Fishing a notebook out of her desk drawer, Vanessa flicked through her extensive collection of pens, searching for the right color, and smiling.

It was a purple kind of day.

No sooner had she uncapped the pen than there was a call from downstairs. "Vanessa! Can you get your brother and come here a moment?" Allison's voice rang through the apartment, and Vanessa raised a confused eyebrow, looking at the clock again. Reading 6:17, that meant that Allison was home early, which was a rare, though not unheard of, occurrence.

"Coming, Mom!" Despite the tension that ran through the family, they were still fairly cohesive as a unit. Vanessa knocked on Chris's door, leaving pen and paper on her pillow to return to, saying, "Chris, Mom wants us, come on!"

The dark-haired boy answered his door, bleary-eyed, and looked at Vanessa with an unreadable (though probably just because he was half-asleep) gaze. "What is it, Vee? I came home and I've been asleep since..."

Vanessa chuckled. "Good thing I woke you up, then; if you've been asleep since three-thirty, there's no way you're going to fall asleep tonight." She ruffled his hair, and he half-heartedly pushed her hand away. "You need a haircut, boy. Mom wanted to see us."

Chris stumbled to the kitchen where Allison waited, still half in a sleep-coma, and Vanessa laughed again before following the example he set. Their mother waited at the kitchen table with a smile not unlike the one that Vanessa had been wearing moments prior. Chris took a seat, and Vanessa followed suit, leery of the look on her mother's face.

"How was school today?" Allison asked, uncharacteristically cheery, and Vanessa noticed she had brought home a family style dinner from some chicken joint, a sure sign that Allison was wrapped up in her own head so much that she didn't even want to cook. Chris and Vanessa shared a look, one of dismay and nervousness, before taking a bite of a drumstick.

"Umm... it was fine. Cassidy conscientiously objected to dissect a fetal pig today in Anatomy & Physiology," Vanessa offered, still wary of what her mother had to say.

"Good, good." Allison was clearly not paying any attention to what Vanessa had said, and the teenager rolled her eyes. She turned her attention to the eleven-year-old, ladling gravy onto his mashed potatoes. "And you, Chris?"

"Good, I guess. Martin ate some wood chips on a dare after school."

"Wonderful, darling." Chris and Vanessa rolled their eyes in unison this time.

Vanessa sighed, before asking the question that she knew her mother wanted to hear. "And you, Mom? How was your day?"

Allison's eyes sparkled. "Kids, you would not believe what happened today. I got a call from someone today, and I have a job interview in two weeks for a new, higher-paid position with a massive design company."

Vanessa smiled benevolently at her mother. "Oh, Mom, that's so great. Really, I mean it. What does the new job entail, if you get it?" Chris, for his part, was poking holes in his chicken breast with a fork.

"Well, that's the thing. It's almost the exact same thing I'm doing now, just with higher pay. Isn't that wonderful?" Vanessa nodded enthusiastically, and Allison plowed on. "There is one little snag, though, you two..."

Chris's ears popped up at that. "What, Mom? What kind of snag?"

The air immediately turned tense, and though Allison had been naive to her children's taunts earlier, she was quick to read the change in tone. "Well," she started tenderly, "I'll keep that to myself until I get the job. There's no reason to make you worry if it's all unfounded, you know." And with a cheeky grin to Vanessa that said, '_You will not make a scene, and you will convince your brother that all is well no matter what_,' Allison took a vicious bite of her potatoes.

Vanessa knew without doubt that the 'snag' was not going to be something that would bode well with her and Chris, but there was little she could do to protest. Allison was still the mother, and she exercised the powers inherent in that position whenever the chance presented itself. After that, they ate dinner in silence, and afterwards, Vanessa retreated to her room; she assumed that Chris did the same, and presumed that Allison had retired to watch television for awhile. That was the normal routine after the evening meal in the Simmons household.

They used to play a lot of mini-golf; Nathan had loved mini-golf.

'Okay, focus,' Vanessa thought, falling on the bed again, purple pen in hand and spiral bound notebook at the ready. 'He can't think you're an idiot, or else he won't write back again. You've never had someone write back more than once, Vanessa. He could be the first person with whom you have regular correspondence. Don't screw this up.'

His handwriting was small, much smaller than hers, and incredibly neat; there was no slant to it, or a minimal one at most, and it fit with the harsh rigor that Vanessa imagined went into the personal life of anyone who had spent time in the military.

She chewed on her pen cap in frustration, and lost herself in her thoughts again. 'Steve Rogers. What an old-fashioned name. Well, he did say he was an old soul... What kind of circumstances land a person in the care of a mogul the likes of Tony Stark? ...at least the view wouldn't be bad, with Stark being around all the time.' Vanessa laughed, and cut off the train of thought.

* * *

He'd written her back. It was possibly a poor life decision, but he'd taken the time out of his day to write this Vanessa Simmons back. He didn't know where it would go (and it's not like it _could_go anywhere, given her position in Seattle), she was probably an immature high school girl, and if Tony ever found out he would probably be merciless, but all that be damned. He'd be writing letters, and that was a comfort in itself.

"Would it _kill _you to come to the casino with me, Rogers?" Tony was trying his hardest to get Steve up and out of Stark Tower for the evening. Steve was having none of it, as per usual, but Tony was being his usual relentless self.

"It isn't a good idea." That was never enough of an answer, but Steve always gave it.

"Come on, we'll go wherever you want - Vegas, Atlantic City, chips on me. You being here so much is making the property value drop." Steve cracked a half-smile at the well-placed jab, and opened his mouth to refuse, when Tony interjected again. "Come _on_, I will let you _fly_the jet if it gets you out of here."

"That is the last thing that would be therapeutic for my current state of mind."

"I'm a big proponent of learning on the job, Cap." Steve rolled his eyes. "Look, Rogers, it's you or Miss Potts, and, let's be honest, she's a little more responsible than I like to take with me to the casino. I haven't had a wingman of such stature as yourself for years."

"Take JARVIS."

"Clever. It's true, the artificial intelligence far outweighs your own... Going as Iron Man would be a riot, don't you think?"

"I think that that is the worst idea you've had since I've known you."

"Including trying to heighten Bruce Banner's blood pressure by poking him with a sharp object? Come on, Captain America, you live in the land of excess now; make the best of it. You're such a homebody that I'm starting to get oil stains on my carpet from your skin."

Steve simply continued to shake his head in response.

* * *

_"i need another story, something to get off my chest." - "Secrets," One Republic_

* * *

**you. guys. what the hell?**

**i have never had one of my stories reacted to this way, ever. i have received eleven reviews, fourteen favorites, and forty-five alerts, all based on one chapter. i don't think you guys understand how much this means to me. bless all of you so much.**

**anyway, um, this is kind of a boring chapter, and it will continue to be kind of boring until like chapter five. i'm sorry if you guys don't like the heavy focus on vanessa's family this time around; it won't always be that way.**

**i love all of you. thank you so much for reviewing/alerting/favoriting. :)**

**i won't always update this fast, btw. or, well, i might if you keep reacting this way; that's the only reason i got this out so fast haha.**


	3. lost

Gunfire. There was gunfire, everywhere, and this was not Afghanistan, this was not the Persian Gulf, this was not Vietnam, and this was certainly not Korea.

This was Germany, in the 1940's, smack in the middle of the reign of Hitler's third Reich. It didn't matter how good of a soldier a man was; being scared meant being sane. Steve Rogers, super-serum aside, was no different, and he was only armed with a shield.

Gunfire. Bullets as far as the eye could see, and just because he was a soldier didn't mean that Steve liked it. "Captain!" A gruff voice called out his rank, and Steve twisted his neck accordingly, only to see ammunition tear through his body.

_Haven't you ever lost a soldier?_

The Brooklyn-born man shot up with a gasp, shirtless and drenched in a cold sweat that seeped through his skin to chill his heart. His breathing was haggard, and, without realizing he'd been clenching the sheets to begin with, Steve released the white-knuckled grip he'd locked the bed beneath him in, willing his heart rate back to normal. Quickly, he glanced at the clock, only to find that it read 11:30. Confused by the darkness in the room, Steve was shocked by a snap of the fingers from somewhere nearby; suddenly light flooded in the windows, and Steve shielded his eyes with his forearm.

"You know, Captain, that feverish sleeping is a symptom of AIDS, cancer, and diabetes." Steve should have been able to guess that it was Tony who had been responsible for the change in lighting. "Should we be getting you to a doctor to get you checked for venereal diseases, as well?"

There was no one better at passive-aggressive compassion and manipulation of tone than Tony Stark, and Steve ran a hand through his hair. "Why didn't you wake me sooner? I can't remember the last time I slept this late."

"Well, you just looked so peaceful sleeping, and I didn't want to wake you from your adorably endearing dream-induced convulsions." Tony took a few steps to the window, staring down at the city below. In the same nonchalant tone, he asked, "What's a Peggy?"

Steve's body physically locked up, his muscles tensing and eyes narrowing at the genius. "Where did you hear that name?"

Tony turned casually to where Steve stonily still sat, with his legs swung over the edge of the bed, making eye contact with the much larger man. "What? Peggy? You mumble her name when you sleep, sometimes, I think when you're feeling especially nostalgic."

Steve's eyes narrowed even more, and he stood from the bed, not giving Tony the satisfaction of a verbal response. He started to leave the bedroom, thinking of all the ways to steal the breath from Tony Stark's lungs, when Tony spoke again. "Who's Vanessa?"

Steve whirled around, eyes wide at that. "If I've been saying her name in my sleep, we have bigger problems than you not knowing who Peggy is, Tony."

Tony laughed a little at that before shaking his head. "Not quite, though it's always good to see you make a joke, Captain. I took the liberty of going through your mail, because, well, this is my tower, and I can. Back in your day, I didn't even know that people in New York knew that Washington existed, much less that the lines of communication were open between kids from Brooklyn and Seattleites... is she cute?"

"It's not like that, Stark." Steve rolled his eyes, but in truth he was grateful; it was weak enough that he'd been caught moaning Peggy's name and having nightmares. The last thing that he needed was to be caught subconsciously talking about a girl he'd never even met. "Where's the letter?"

"You're so testy, all the time-" The entrance of Pepper Potts stopped Tony's train of thought. "Why, hello, Pepper. How are you this lovely-"

"The letter is right here, Steve." Pepper reached into the man's back pocket, never breaking eye contact with Steve, taking out the envelope that presumably held Vanessa's message and handing it to him. "I made sure he didn't open it, though we all know that the words 'federal offense' don't mean anything to a man of such stature as Tony Stark."

"Now, Miss Potts-"

"Thank you, ma'am." Steve gave Pepper a genuine smile, and she clicked her tongue at Tony after returning the gesture.

"You're lucky you give such good birthday presents, Mr. Stark; with manners like that, Steve Rogers could win nearly any woman he wanted."

"You said, 'with manners like that,' but your eyes say that you meant, 'with biceps like that.'" Pepper chuckled as Tony spoke, giving him a swift kiss on the cheek before exiting in the sky-high stilettos for which Steve could never determine a practical function. "You didn't give me an answer, Pepper!" No response came from Pepper, and Tony looked at the ground. "Women, honestly," he said, before following in Pepper's footsteps. Steve looked at the letter, addressed in purple ink but the same handwriting this first one had been sent in, setting it on the nightstand for later reading.

Steve thought about slipping on a shirt and going out to the kitchen for something to eat before changing his mind and heading in the direction of the shower. He didn't want to put on clean clothes with such a horrid night's sleep just behind him, and the water running over his skin would be a welcome respite from his nightmare. The shower was rain, warm rain running down through his hair, over his shoulders, pounding as it hit the shower floor. Rhythmic pitter-patters fell, one after another, each one in unison with the nerve endings firing in his mind. He would never regret being Captain America, but he would be lying if he said that sometimes he didn't wish he was just sickly Steve Rogers again - sometimes it felt hard to be human in the wake of being the exalted superhero.

It was only after he was clean and dressed did Steve sit down and look at the letter. Her handwriting was a mess, and she'd smudged the second 'r' and the 's' in his last name, a purple smear running across the two letters. The purple ink was a reminder that she was still just a child, and the embellished 'V' showcased a girly femininity that maybe hadn't bloomed entirely yet.

_Hello, Steve!_

He smiled at that; the informal greeting was, for lack of a better word, cute.

_You were in the military? Where did you serve, if I can ask? I'm just curious. My dad was in the Gulf in the 90s, but I don't really know many other people who were in the military. Afghanistan, or Iraq? And you're a blue man, you say? I don't like to limit myself to one color; it'll be a while before I run out of hues to write you letters in! :)_

_How did you wind up connected with Tony Stark? I bet Stark Tower is a lovely place to be. The apartment that I live in with my family is big enough, especially now that there are only three of us, but that doesn't change the fact that I always want something bigger and better. My younger brother, Chris, says that he wants to end up in Asgard some day. He's got quite the imagination in him, and he's totally infatuated with superheroes, especially Thor. He told me the other day, though, that he doesn't really think Iron Man is a superhero. I quote - "Come on, Vee, if he didn't have that suit, what good would he be in __**any**__ kind of fight?" Don't tell Mr. Stark that, though!_

_As for my dreams? My mother would love, more than anything, for me to grow up and be a nurse; once upon a time, she asked me if I would ever consider teaching (but hell, not in this economy). What I want to do, though, is go into prosthetics. My dad came back from the Gulf missing his left arm, and all I can remember, from the time I was little, is wanting to make him a new way to be normal. My dad was my hero. My dream is to make prosthetics for people who've lost a physical part of themselves in warfare, whether that's a stupid dream or not._

_My letter writing, too, came from my dad; when he was away, he wrote my mom letters, and once he came back, he never stopped. He sent at least one letter a day, be it to an old military friend in Virginia or to my aunt in Massachusetts. I guess I'm just trying to carry on the tradition, if you'll perpetuate the old-fashioned hobby with me. There's something romantic in letters._

_And what kind of sign-off is 'warmest regards,' anyway? ;)_

_Hope to hear from you soon! :)_  
_Vanessa~ xo_

_PS: Have you always lived in New York? Is it beautiful? I've never been there, but I'd love to see it._

By the last word, Steve had a smile in his face like he hadn't had in... well, years. He didn't know what he was going to say in regards to where he had served - he didn't want to out himself as a World War II veteran - but this girl was good to talk to. She brought a smile to his face. He couldn't ask for anything more. The superfluous use of the winking face, however, had caused a raised eyebrow; what was wrong with 'warmest regards' as a sign-off? Was that outdated, too?

And as for her father... she sounded like she had stories she could tell about him, despite her usage of the past tense when talking about her father. Had something happened to him?

Steve stared out the window at the street below, at the cars whizzing by, stories beneath him, and found a soft smile on his face once again.

"Sir?"

Steve jumped at the voice, as he always did; that, he was certain, would never change. Steadying his heartbeat, and loosening his grip on Vanessa's three-page letter, Steve managed, "Yes, JARVIS? How can I help you?"

"Mr. Stark requests that you leave your floor, lest he have to have Miss Potts sweep you out of it himself."

Steve was silent for a minute, not speaking, mulling everything over without giving a hint as to his reaction.

"JARVIS?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Ask Tony... to keep whatever New York has to offer low-key."

"Yes, sir."

Steve took a nervous breath, mostly because he knew that Tony Stark really didn't believe in acclimation; he'd said it himself, and it was quite evident in the lifestyle choices the mogul had made.

Tony appeared, sliding his arm around Steve's shoulder. "So, I thought we'd -"

"Nothing big. I mean it. Let's just go to a bar. I could use... a beer. We can see if that's changed." Steve already knew the answer to that, though. Of course it had. It was just like everything else.

* * *

"Daddy?" Chris had accidentally left his door open that night, and Vanessa always did, so it was no surprise that he could hear her voice as she talked to their deceased father. "Daddy, I miss you." Chris rose from his bed, and with compassion in his eyes, he walked down the hallway, sitting outside her door, and listening as she spoke.

"Nothing's the same anymore, Dad." He could hear the tears trying to escape her eyes, that she was losing the battle with. "Mom's trying to act like everything's better, like losing you has just made her a better parent, but that's not the truth. We're falling apart, Daddy. Chris is dealing with it okay, but he wants to have you back, too." The tears were falling now, and every few words, a sob racked her body. "He's buried himself in superheroes that are barely real now that you aren't here anymore. You were our hero. You survived war, Dad. If you survived all of that, all those horror stories that you told me late at night, that you didn't want to relive but did anyway, to try and show me that humanity was worth fighting for, how is it possible that you died a civilian? Chris is trying to move on, to superheroes that can take your place, but... you _were _our hero."

Chris could feel himself crying now.

"You still are my hero, Daddy."

* * *

_"ricochet, you take your aim, fire away." - "Titanium," David Guetta ft. Sia_

* * *

**you guys. i don't even understand what is happening. what have i done to deserve all these beautiful reviews you have been leaving me? they're the only reason i've been updating so fast, bless all of you, and i've hit over one hundred alerts. i've _never _had a story received this way. :')**_  
_

**a couple of you have said something about vanessa seeming a little immature; part of that is on purpose, although i hope it's not detrimental to your reading experience. she's supposed to act a little like a foil to steve, and she's also supposed to... well, i can't tell you that yet. it has to do with the last little bit of this chapter, which made me incredibly sad to write.**

**thank you all for reading. please love me enough to review. xoxo**


	4. encounters

Something was very, very wrong, and Tony couldn't quite put his finger on what. Steve had been more compliant than usual. He'd been uncharacteristically quiet, even for him, but Tony could hardly fault him that when Steve Rogers had actually left the confines of Stark Tower.

"It's a victory, JARVIS, but I must know the cause responsible for his change of heart..." Tony leaned back in his chair momentarily before shifting forward again, touching the computer screen with his index finger and pulling up an application. The search bar at his beck and call, Tony smiled. "You'll thank me later, Steve."

* * *

Vanessa had been dozing, in and out of sleep for the last forty-five minutes, head bobbing as it rested on her right hand. She liked her anatomy class, a lot, actually, but she hadn't slept very well the last few nights; the previous one had been no different. She'd been trying her hardest to stay awake, but she was losing that battle every second.

"Vanessa, are you feeling okay?" Mr. Lenning was quick to inquire as to her state of being, and Vanessa nodded accordingly, prying her eyelids open with sheer willpower.

"I'm fine, sir. I just haven't been able to sleep very well the last few nights... May I use the restroom?" Maybe getting up and walking for a bit would help her stay awake.

"Of course. Take a pass, please." Vanessa dragged herself out of the desk's confines, trudging to grab the pass from her teacher's hand before somehow managing to make it into the hallway. This school was not something she was overly fond of, though it was far from a hated place. She felt a small smile rise to her lips on the sight of a picture of her with her three teammates and coach, being honored for their performance in the field of mathematics. They probably could have won the state championship that year, if her teammates hadn't listened to her stupid misinterpretation of a logarithmic function. Vanessa shook her head at the memory. She was the only senior, though; Corinne and Michael would have one more chance to bring home the gold, and Brendon had two more years yet. Vanessa would miss it, though; hopefully she'd get another chance at something similar in a collegiate environment.

Vanessa let her hand trail down the line of lockers, paying no heed to the swarm of germs that probably infested every inch of them. She used to think that she was ready to move on from high school, but now that it was the only thing (save Chris) that held any familiarity for Vanessa at all, she wasn't so sure. She wasn't scared of going off to college (she'd already been accepted to Columbia, which, much to her mother's dismay, was all the way across the country in New York). Vanessa was just terrified of losing the only thing that was still "normal" in her life.

"Hey, Vanessa?" The young woman was torn from her reverie by Michael's voice, the aforementioned teammate of hers who could have won it all in mathematics. Vanessa turned, forcing a smile on her face despite the internal turmoil she was experiencing.

"Yes, Michael? How can I help you?"

"Erm..." The blonde scratched the back of his head ashamedly, a tortured frown firmly on his face. "I was just, uh, on my way to the library, and I saw you, and, um..." Vanessa cocked an eyebrow; she and Michael were good friends. He was one of her best, in Vanessa's opinion - smart, compassionate, and a wonderful shoulder to cry on. "I don't think we should go to prom together anymore, Vanessa."

"Oh." The disappointment was rather crushing, although not in the romantic scheme of things; it was naught but dealing with another form of abandonment. It was minor, really, in the grand scheme of things, but it was just one more weight to bear. "Can I ask why?"

"Um..." Michael knew that she was upset, and Vanessa knew that that was why he kept stumbling through his words. In a way, it was almost vindicating. "You remember that girl I've liked since I was practically a fetus?"

"Amelia, right?"

"She, um, asked me if I wanted to go with her... and I sort of said yes before I even remembered that I promised you we'd go. I'm so sorry, Vanessa."

With a soft smile, Vanessa said, "Don't sweat it, Michael. I've got no problem going alone. You've liked her for ages."

Warm, glowing relief permeated Michael's features, and he pulled her into a tight hug. "Thank you, Vanessa. You're the best. And if they play that stupid Enrique Iglesias song that I hate and you love, I'll dance it with you, I promise."

They pulled out of the hug, and Vanessa smiled at the younger boy. "You can be my hero, baby. Now, get back to class; I know how much you love chemistry." Michael gagged in response, acting as though he'd rather shove a finger down his own throat than go back in the direction from whence he came, but he complied anyhow. With a sigh, Vanessa updated every social network she was a part of with a simple-enough status - _Wanted: one prom date who doesn't mind the short notice of three days._

In truth, it had been rather shitty of him to do something like this so close to the date of the event, but Vanessa could hardly make herself be mad at him. He'd been trailing after Amelia for practically eleven years, the way that Michael spoke of her. Vanessa, still a bit upset over the ordeal, had found herself almost snoozing again in anatomy when her phone vibrated her out of a very comfortable half-sleep coma. Vanessa's entire body shuddered in shock, and Mr. Lenning turned accordingly with the movement in his peripheral vision. "Vanessa, are you sure you're alright?"

"Y-y-yes, sir. I just need to get some more sleep tonight, is all..." When he turned back to the whiteboard, Vanessa pulled out the device, staring at the notification in confusion.

_Hello, Vanessa. User TSTARK would like to share contact information with you._

This had to be some kind of joke. There was no way that that was what it looked like, and Vanessa shook her head, thinking of simply ignoring the request before letting her curiosity get the better of her and accepting it. _We'll see who you are, _she thought, _and then delete you the second things start over towards the creepy side. _As terrible as the day had already been, it could hardly get any worse.

Vanessa trudged on, she persevered through the day, apathy positively bleeding from each of her pores. The worst part was that - and this was an unalienable truth - that things would be no better at home. The only positive Vanessa could take from having to go home at the end of the day was checking the mail; Steve was due to send her a letter back, if he was going to send her one at all. With a cynical smile, Vanessa laughed, walking out to the public bus stop after school. Inviting Steve to prom with her would be an absolute_ riot._

She climbed on the bus that dropped her a roughly three minute walk from home; usually Vanessa came home later than Chris, but now that she was done being a mathlete they could head for home together. Vanessa and Chris walked the few blocks home after getting off the bus, and then they stopped upon seeing their mother's vehicle in the apartment complex's parking lot. "What's she doing home, Vee?" Chris asked the question that they'd both been thinking, and Vanessa shook her head in response.

"I don't know, Chris, but let's go find out." They scaled the stairs to the third floor, and upon walking in, Vanessa's jaw hit the floor. "Mom! What the hell?"

Emerging from a sea of cardboard boxes, Allison gave her daughter a dirty look. "Don't use that language in front of your mother!"

Vanessa's eyes narrowed; she was not happy with exactly what she knew was happening. "Oh, this is that little snag that comes along with your new job, isn't it? You're packing us up and moving us on out to wherever your little promotion dictates you go? Congrats on the upgrade, but thanks for consulting us on leaving Seattle, too, Mom."

Not one to let her daughter get the last word in the argument, and ignoring Chris's teary eyes, Allison shot back, "I thought you'd be happy for me, Vanessa Simmons, but even if you are not, I am still your mother, and you will respect me enough to obey me. I am in charge of re-decorating Stark Tower in the aftermath of the destruction of New York City-" Vanessa went rigid and her eyes widened with shock; Steve _lived_in Stark Tower. "And we will be there by next Wednesday night. My job starts Friday. Start packing."

Proximity to Steve aside, Vanessa's jaw dropped in disgust. "Mother, prom is _this_Saturday!"

"I _know,_Vanessa. We're leaving Monday, after school; that'll be all the time you have to say goodbye. You're going to have to help me drive, too." Vanessa opened her mouth to respond, but Allison cut her off. "I'll have none of it, Vanessa. We're leaving, and that's final. This will be good for us."

Vanessa refused to cry, but she felt the tears well up anyway. "Come on, Chris." The older girl held out a hand for the boy, and he took it, leading her to their rooms and disappearing into his own silently. Vanessa followed suit before realizing she hadn't checked the mail for any letters. Without a word or a moment of eye contact with Allison, Vanessa flipped through the six or seven envelopes on the counter, and she couldn't help the way her heart swelled at the military-grade way that Steve had written her name in the center of one of them.

Whisking it away to her room, Vanessa hesitated not for a second before reading it.

_Hello Vanessa,_

_I was in the military, yes, and give your father my best regards; it's a special kind of person who is, and he has all my respect for his service. The greatest men I've ever met are those I've known under fire._

_How I wound up with Tony Stark is not a story that can really be told through words. In a way, we were connected through my service. Tony is, inarguably, a man without equal. There is no one like him on this earth, in both good ways and bad. Stark Tower is nice enough, but it's a little high on the technology scale for me - and Tony, by the way, would be mortified to find that he wasn't the idol of every young boy who has a fondness for superheroes. Thor, however, is a good choice; as role models go, you could hardly pick one with a better heart._

Vanessa's smile faltered at the mention of her father, but how could Steve have known he was gone? The smile returned, though, at the sight of his passion, though he had neglected to mention where his service had taken place; he seemed the kind who was of few words, but that felt deeper than most. Steve spoke of Thor as though he knew him, and this puzzled Vanessa before she chalked it up to his knowing Tony Stark well; maybe the Avengers all went out for shawarma together or something, and Steve tagged along?

_Prosthetics? I can't say I'm familiar with the field, but that's very noble of you, and soldiers who were less fortunate than myself would take pride in having someone like you assist them. The adjustment process, for people like us, is hard enough without the added difficulties of a new physical disadvantage, and for you to offer yourself to help in that way means more than you could probably ever imagine. Thank you, Vanessa, on behalf of myself and all those who were less fortunate than me; I was blessed enough to remain whole, at least in the physical sense. My coping in other areas is more questionable._

_Letters are familiar to me, and therein lies my fondness. I just thank you greatly for taking the time out of your day to write me, Miss Simmons. Your words are greatly appreciated. I, myself, will continue to sign with 'warmest regards' until I have something better to say._

_Warmest Regards,_  
_Steve Rogers_

He was like something out of the 1940s, Vanessa mused, and she prepared to write him back, this time in yellow, when a sound came from the computer she had logged into upon entering the room. Vanessa squinted her eyes to see it better, before growing greatly confused.

**INCOMING VIDEO CALL: TSTARK IS CALLING YOU**

She probably shouldn't have answered, really, and her head was telling her that it was some sort of pedophilic creep, but Vanessa couldn't deny her curiosity the satisfaction of clicking '**ACCEPT**.'

Her webcam booted up, and so did the other party's, and her jaw dropped once more as soon as they saw each other.

"Vanessa, I presume?" Tony Stark asked her, and Vanessa was incapable of forming a coherent word. They sat in silence for a moment, before he spoke again. "Steve didn't tell me you were a mute, Miss Simmons..."

Incapable of doing much of anything else, Vanessa took the only logical out, and disconnected the call.

* * *

Tony stared at the screen in shock. She'd shut the call down before he'd had the slightest chance to get a read on her character past the initial slack-jawed look that she'd given him.

**INCOMING VIDEO CALL: VEESIMMONS IS CALLING YOU**

Tony grinned. Now that was more like it.

**ACCEPT.**

* * *

"Can I help you, Mr. Stark?"

"So formal, Miss Simmons; we are friends of each other's friend. I believe we should be on first name basis."

"Erm, hello, Tony."

"Much better, Vanessa. It's lovely to meet you."

"The pleasure's all mine, or at least I believe that's the appropriate response."

"I can't stay long, I simply wanted to make your acquaintance, to find the reason that suddenly Steve is much more compliant than usual. More likely than not, you'll be hearing from me in the near future." Vanessa cocked an eyebrow at Tony's words, a quirky endearing gesture, one at which Tony smirked.

"Can I at least see Steve? He lives at Stark Tower, does he not?"

"Oh, he does, but no, you can't see him."

Vanessa was only slightly appalled. "And why not?"

"Because, Miss Simmons, I am the boss. I don't need the Captain thinking I'm going soft; Pepper already seems to be under that impression." With that, this time Tony disconnected the call, leaving a confused Vanessa.

More to herself than anyone else, Vanessa said, "So, that really was Tony Stark. I just talked to Iron Man..." Her voice trailed off, before she smiled a little bit again. "I didn't know that Steve was a captain."

* * *

"What's got you in such a good mood, Stark?" Steve asked suspiciously. Tony shrugged, keeping his schemes to himself easily, and looked at the taller man unassumingly.

"I don't know what you mean. I'm always such a chipper fellow. Now, is tonight the night I'm finally going to be able to drag you to the casino?"

* * *

_"i'm falling more in love, with every word you say." - "My Beautiful Rescue," This Providence_

* * *

**you guys are so fabulous that it wounds me. xoxo i love all of your reviews and your alerts and your favorites and you guys seem to really enjoy vanessa's character and DO YOU GUYS KNOW HOW MUCH FUN IT IS TO WRITE TONY STARK IT IS SO FUN**

**okay anyways please continue reviewing. i love you!**


	5. golden

"Steve, darling, I'm going out for the day. Don't wait up for me." Tony's voice rang through Steve's living quarters that Saturday morning. The tall blonde emerged from the bathroom with a toothbrush in his mouth and an eyebrow raised suspiciously. "Excellent. I've caught you at a time when you can't possibly ask questions."

Disregarding Tony (as was usual practice by this point), Steve removed the toothbrush. "Where are you going?" he asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.

"West," Tony replied vaguely, "I'll be back by tomorrow morning, at the latest. Let JARVIS know if you need anything, and let Pepper know if you need help operating JARVIS."

Rolling his eyes, Steve retreated again into the bathroom, saving, "Have fun in California."

Tony waved and walked out the door in response, neglecting to mention that Steve was wrong in assuming that he was heading for the Golden State. Steve, for his part, truly had realized that Tony had been acting oddly - more oddly than usual, even - but what could he do about it? Not a thing, and that was that. He was done up in formal wear as he walked out the door, and Steve shook his head before gauging the amount of light outside. Usually, when he wanted to box, he just used Stark Tower's gym, but today, after not receiving a letter from Vanessa, Steve wanted something else.

"JARVIS?" Steve addressed Tony's artificial intelligence system with slight trepidation, as was not out of the ordinary. Pepper, from where she stood just outside the door, had to laugh a bit. Steve Rogers was certainly a man out of his time, but - and of this she was almost one hundred percent sure - he hadn't been the most socially stable of people even back in the 1940s.

"Yes, sir?" It was easy, Pepper thought, to see why Tony had taken to Steve so quickly after their egos had initially clashed. They were foils of one another to the nth degree, at least on the surface; deep down, Tony was probably more like Steve than even he himself realized. That was the difficulty with Tony. Very few, outside of herself, took the time to really delve any deeper into the self-proclaimed genius billionaire playboy philanthropist than what was on the surface. Steve was well on his way to looking at Tony Stark that way, and if Bruce Banner had had more time, Pepper was certain he would have seen Tony the way that she did.

"Where's the nearest place to box?"

"Two floors beneath you, sir."

"No, I mean... the nearest one that isn't in Stark Tower." Pepper smiled at that, crossing her arms over her chest; Captain America appeared ready to take a shot at facing the world after all. With her heels click-clacking over the floor, Pepper smiled at the ground. Steve Rogers didn't need her help - not yet, at least.

* * *

"Hold _still_, Vanessa, goodness-"

"Mother, I'm only squirming because I can't _breathe_-" Vanessa quickly lost another bit of oxygen as her mother pulled the laces tighter on the back of her dress. The gown was a lovely one, an olive green, shimmery garment that fell to the floor, with a corset-style back that Vanessa's mother was using to wreak havoc on her life. "Mom, that's quite enough!"

There was a knock on the door, and Allison jumped, smiling. "Oh! That must be your date!"

Vanessa's mouth opened slightly in confusion. Michael had cancelled on her; she didn't _have _a date. "Uh, Mom, I don't think-"

The high school senior was interrupted by Chris, who was saying, in awe and wonder, "You have _got_ to be kidding. Vanessa! _Vanessa! Why have you never invited Tony Stark here before?_** Are you trying to say that you knew Iron Man and you didn't tell me?**"

Vanessa, for her part, making eye contact with the only slightly taller man, was only capable of squeaking out a, "What?"

"You, my dear, look stunning. Are you ready? The car is waiting." Tony's nonchalance only added to the situation's surreal aura, and Vanessa had little choice but to take the arm he offered her. Allison, for her part, was rather incapable of picking her jaw up off the floor, and Chris, too, was starstruck, but only for a minute, long enough for Vanessa to go only two steps with the madly rich mogul.

Vanessa was only going through the motions, following the lead Tony set, when she felt Chris grab her hand and send a soul-chilling look in her direction. "Vee, you have _so _much explaining to do when you get home."

The young woman smiled sheepishly at her brother; in truth, she was just as confused as Chris and her mother, incapable of fathoming why Tony Stark was on her doorstep, dressed formally as her prom date, and how he'd even known where she lived.

"I look forward to re-designing your tower, Mr. Stark," Allison finally managed. Tony was quick to reward her with a dazzling grin, and Vanessa's mother smiled shyly, a look that made Vanessa roll her eyes.

"I do hope your escort isn't terribly upset with me. You look lovely enough that I'll be the envy of everyone, not to mention whatever boy I've stolen you away from." Tony chuckled as he opened the passenger's side door to a 1961 Ferrari. Vanessa, with eyes wide as silver platters, looked at him in shock.

"What do you mean? I was going it alone, tonight. How did you even-"

Tony raised an eyebrow, and said, "Going _sans_ date? I find that hard to believe, but I hadn't the foggiest idea. And you should refrain from questions about _how_. I think you keep forgetting who I am." The much older man winked before closing her door and getting in the driver's side, and Vanessa sunk down an inch in her seat as he did.

It was a quiet ride, mostly, with the only conversation Vanessa initiated being, "Does Steve know you're here?"

Tony laughed at that. "Vanessa, he'd flay me if he knew where I was. The Captain doesn't get out much."

He'd chosen a fancy restaurant in a part of Seattle that Vanessa had only really seen through the window of a car, and as they ate, they were quiet but not uncomfortable, Vanessa not having fully comprehended the situation in which she had found herself. With an undignified stab at her salad, the girl snuck a glance at the man who had facilitated the evening. "Have you been to Seattle before?"

"Twice." He was quick to answer. "Both times for some kind of convention that masqueraded as worthwhile consumers of my time."

Vanessa raised both eyebrows as she sipped her tea. "Just as condescending in person as in legend, Mr. Stark."

Tony chuckled, and raised his glass of wine in a toast to the brunette. "I didn't get to where I am today for no reason, Miss Simmons."

"Indeed. And humble you are, too."

* * *

One blow after another fell into the punching bag, without a single pause from the man inflicting them. It was strange, he thought, having people around while he was doing this. He used boxing as a mechanism to vent, a time to think of nothing but his knuckles (figuratively) making contact with what was in front of him. Having a trainer watching him in the act was a little disconcerting, though it wasn't as though he was the only focus of the supervisor's attention. The little sweat beaded on his brow paid off as he knocked the bag off its hook, staring at it, a little more vindicated than he had been before.

"Hey, blondie." Steve turned, correctly guessing that he had been the one being addressed. "Let's spar." His gaze lit upon another man, leaning over the ropes from the ring. Steve was quick to size him up - the other man stood roughly six foot tall, and he looked probably twenty-five years of age, a leaner build than Steve himself was, but radiating cockiness befitting someone who was obviously incredibly confident in their own abilities. He motioned Steve towards the ring, and he responded by shaking his head.

"I don't think that's such a good idea, son." Steve was not in the mood to fight anything that could fight back - save the Chitauri, he hadn't since he'd woken up from his ice-block coffin - but in retrospect, his use of the word "son" had only further inflamed the hotheaded challenger.

"Oh, son? Who do you think you're talking to? I'm the best boxer in New York City, blondie. If you're going to train here, it's tradition that you're beaten by me at least once."

Steve sighed, and swung himself into the ring. This day, whoever this man was, he was in for a rude awakening. _If there's one thing that never changes, it's people who think they can bully._

* * *

As expected, he was thoroughly unimpressed with the scene presented before him, or at least that was the vibe Vanessa took from him. "Sorry," she snidely remarked, "it's only a public high school, after all. We can't expect to impress."

Tony scoffed at her words before helping her out of the car. "You can drop by New York sometime, and I'll have Steve take you to one of those stupid galas that my charities always throw. He'll show you a real party, and likely be a more gracious escort than myself."

"Do you have a picture of him or something? I'd like to know what he looks like."

Tony raised his eyebrows in surprise. "What's this? Is that Vanessa Simmons being genuine?"

Vanessa rolled her eyes. "Don't get used to it. Now let's get this over with. I wasn't even that excited for the evening to begin with, and all you're going to do is bring me unwanted-" Vanessa broke off mid-sentence to send a wave and a smile Michael's way, engaged though he was in the eyes of a pretty, petite little blonde who she could only assume was Amelia. "Oh, bless them, they're adorable. You're bringing unwanted attention."

That was the genuine truth; Tony knew it, and he wasn't even close to sorry. The shameless smirk he shot Vanessa was evidence enough of that, and she smiled despite herself as he looked her in the eyes. "Well, Miss Simmons? Shall you and I have a dance?"

She'd never been big on the fuss about prom, but Vanessa knew that this was one she would not forget.

* * *

The other man was flat on his back in the middle of the ring, and if Steve had had more of an ego, he might have found it pathetic. The man had gotten up again every time he'd been knocked down (after all, how was he to know he was up against Captain America?), and it might have been admirable on any other person. This one, though, seemed to have a knack for saying just the right thing, every time, to end every blossom of sympathy that Steve felt. He didn't have a wicked bone in his body, but Steve couldn't say that it felt like the other man didn't belong where he was laying.

Steve exited the ring, and was unwrapping his hands when he heard a singular person applaud him. He paid no attention to it, but found a hand on his shoulder nonetheless. Steve made eye contact with a man who probably stood roughly 5'9", a wispy, white-haired individual with a smile on his face. "Can I help you, sir?"

"You already have, son. This is my gym, and I'd like to thank you, unofficially, of course, for doing a bit of the dirty work I'd been putting off." A bell dinged in accordance with his words, signifying Steve's opponent's exit. "Between you and I, that boy has a lot of talent, but he's nothing but a bulldog without an ounce of empathy."

Steve smiled softly. "Yeah. There are a lot of men like that."

Never once letting his hand leave Steve's shoulder, he gripped the flesh there, a firmer grip than he'd been expecting, given the man's smallish stature. "I don't know who you are, but you're welcome in my gym any time you'd like..." He trailed off, searching for a name.

"I might just take you up on that offer, if you don't mind. And it's Steve. Steve Rogers, sir. It's a pleasure."

"No, really, the pleasure is mine."

* * *

_"don't pretend you'd ever forget about me." - "Don't You Know Who I Think I Am?" Fall Out Boy_

* * *

**ajlsdkjlakjf it's been forever, no? sorry it took me so long to update; stuff's been nuts. i've had my finals, graduation party, a sort-of-stalker, a new crush, and friends and yeah. i could make excuses all damn day, okay?**

**anyway, this chapter isn't so great, in my humble opinion. it's filler, but i was trying to make it fun filler, and i think i just failed. i tried to make it an exercise in character development display but it did not turn out the way i planned. next chapter should be better, because vanessa and her fam-jam head to new york.**

**sooooo thank you sososo much for all the reviews/alerts/favorites! please keep them coming! i love you all, and i'll see you next time! :)**


	6. birth

To tell Tony Stark he wasn't a genius was to tell a kitten not to sharpen its claws, to tell a fledgling not to fly, to explain to Steve Rogers how the space program had progressed - in short, it was impossible. A person couldn't possibly tell him he wasn't a genius because it was factual that he was; good luck convincing him otherwise.

One thing he didn't know, though, was how Vanessa was going to adapt to New York; she was perfectly comfortable with her tame Seattle lifestyle, and the city that never slept was not her speed at all. She and Steve were probably more alike than they even knew, and it was with casual curiosity that Tony wondered what she would become.

New York had a tendency to change everyone who came in contact with it, and even though Vanessa Simmons seemed like a strong-willed girl, she was still malleable and naive for an eighteen-year-old. For better or worse, Tony just couldn't say.

She made Steve feel better, though, and she wasn't an awful dancer, so Tony would look out for her in the most subtle of ways. After all, Vanessa couldn't possibly think that it was just a coincidence that her mother had gotten a job at Stark Tower, now, could she?

Tony heard JARVIS in the other room, addressing Steve - "Sir, your mail is by the door, as requested." - and Tony laughed, picturing the Captain jumping, as he always did, when the artificial intelligence made its presence known.

Steve scooped up the mail with one hand, sifting through the junk before finding what he was looking for, though it came in different packaging than usual. The envelope was black, and Vanessa's words were penned in yellow ink this time around; her handwriting was becoming quite familiar, in all honesty. Instinctively, the moment he heard Tony push the door to his quarters open - he didn't even get offended by Tony's lack of knocking anymore - Steve's fingers clenched around the letter, sliding it into his back pocket even as Iron Man strolled in, chewing on a bagel with his eyes focused on a phone that was lightyears out of Steve's comprehension.

"Vanessa's a pretty one, Rogers."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "Pardon? I don't think I heard you correctly."

"Vanessa Simmons? Little Seattleite whose letters you comb the mail for nearly every day? You know, because you're hopeless with women in real life? She's a pretty thing. Her right eye's a little odd; it's like a lazy eye, almost, but she's very cute. Not my type, certainly - not nearly big enough in the chest, and don't you dare tell Pepper I said that - but the backside almost makes up for it-"

"What on earth are you _talking _about, Stark?" Steve cut him off before Tony could go into further detail about Vanessa's anatomy. "

Tony raised his eyebrows with half of the bagel still in his mouth, and in truth it was a rather comical sight. "You don't believe me? Have a look for yourself. You've snagged a good one, all things considered." The man tossed his electronic device in Steve's direction, and the veteran snagged it out of the air with ease.

"There's nothing here..." Steve was staring at a dark, black screen, and he looked at Tony in sheer confusion. Tony deadpanned, rubbing the palm of his hand over his right eye.

"Just press the button on the side."

"But there are probably thirteen buttons-"

"Look, Cap, with all due respect, you can press any button and it'll do the job." Tony rolled his eyes, and Steve did as instructed. The screen illuminated accordingly, and Steve was gifted the image of Tony Stark, with a young woman on his right arm.

Tony was right; she really was pretty (and she really did have a bit of a lazy eye), though Steve couldn't see the backside he'd been going on about. He could feel his face heating up at the thought, and shook the idea from his head before he got to an even more dangerous place. She stood fairly tall for a young woman, though she was hardly a giant. Vanessa had a nice enough figure, notwithstanding the small-chestedness. Those, Steve noted, were much smaller than Peggy's... He banished that thought quickly, though not before Tony noted the change in composure and chuckled. Vanessa had brown hair, green eyes, and was... _shockingly _comfortable in Tony's company. She was in _Tony's_company

"What were you _doing_with her?"

"I told you I was going out west the other day. You assumed I was off to California, and I saw no need to correct you."

"So you went to _Seattle?" _Steve shook his head at that one. "But why?"

Tony shrugged. "Her date for the promenade cancelled on her, and I took it upon myself to be the knight in shining armor; I hope you'll forgive me. I know that's your gambit."

Steve lifted his hand, looking as though he were about to speak before shaking his head and thinking better of it, handing the device back to its owner. Everything that Tony did, nearly, was irritating, and this was no different. Certainly, with someone like Tony Stark around, Steve always paled in comparison; Tony was a lot like Bucky in that respect.

That was the other thing about having moved into this particular decade; everything moved so fast. Steve blended into the background almost as easily now as he did back before the experiment, save when he donned his Captain America guise. The streets of New York never stopped long enough for him to catch up, and so he was always twenty paces behind. Tony was the absolute antithesis, and being near him was enough to make Steve feel perpetually out of his element.

Maybe Steve was adjusting a little better nowadays, but he was nowhere near a functioning member of this society, and that realization made him sick to his stomach. Finally, Steve managed to rid himself of Tony and the heckling involved; it should've shocked him, Tony flying out to Seattle solely to escort Vanessa somewhere, but he'd become very desensitized to Tony's shenanigans.

Steve was still wondering about what had warranted a black envelope - perhaps the yellow ink just didn't show up very well on white paper? Regardless, he slid a finger under the flap, releasing the letter inside to reveal what Vanessa had to say. Her letter, identical to the envelope itself, was also written on black paper, and Steve quirked an eyebrow as he read what she'd written; from the start, the tone was far different from the Vanessa he'd grown used to.

_Steve._

_You may be wondering why I've chosen such a somber tone for today's letter-writing extravaganza. The truth is that today is the day that everything in my life changes, that I leave everything I've ever known; my mother was hired to redecorate Stark Tower, and as such, I am packing up everything I've ever known in Seattle, and being shipped to New York City. I'll be frank, I was a little too shell-shocked to ask Tony about anything when he showed up on my doorstep, but isn't it a fantastic coincidence that my mother got a job where you live? I'm sure Tony had nothing to do with it - all things considered, maybe Pepper Potts had seen some of my mother's work and liked it? I love everything about Pepper Potts, or at least her image; she's so classy, exactly the kind of woman that I'd love to be._

Steve groaned; if Vanessa thought that this was really just a coincidence, she was thicker than he had originally given her credit for. He could tell, just from the way the whole thing had been set up, that this was entirely Tony Stark's doing. Life with the genius was draining. Vanessa's obvious girlcrush on Pepper, on the other hand, was incredibly amusing.

_I didn't have the heart to tell Tony that he wasn't Chris's favorite, and I still don't feel like I know Tony as well as I know you; for that matter, I don't know if I'd want to. Tony is just a little over the top for my taste. You seem the kind of person that I could talk to for hours, if you'd let me, even though I'm sure you'd get bored of my words long before I got bored of talking! ;)_

_Has there been much difficulty for you, in coping? You must think me incredibly self-centered then, acting as I am over having to move only to the other side of the country. I don't think I was absolutely clear when I was talking about my father earlier. He passed away six months ago - or, well, I suppose it's closer to seven now - but I remember everything about him, especially the anxiety, the paranoia, and the horrific dreams that haunted him until the day he died. I'm not meaning to overstep my boundaries; I just want to say, without coming off the wrong way, that I'm here to listen if you ever want to talk to someone. I certainly haven't lived it, but my father told me everything that happened to him. At least, I think he told me everything. Mom still doesn't know, but he told me everything, because he wanted me to know the repercussions of human nature, of what happens when a group of people give another group of people another reason to be hateful. I'm rambling, now, and in truth I'm probably not making much sense, but I hope you catch what I'm trying to say._

_Warmest of regards, Steve Rogers, and best of wishes from me, and from Chris as well, who has been staring over my shoulder for the past twenty minutes,_

_Vanessa & Chris_

Vanessa's name was in the familiar strokes of her handwriting, but Chris had signed the letter himself, in a more labored and juvenile script. For once, even if she wouldn't understand - and she couldn't; how could anyone be expected to understand, when he'd been frozen in a block of ice for three-quarters of a century? - it was nice to have someone who wanted to try to understand him when he was spending so much time trying to understand everything and everyone else in this brave new world.

* * *

They'd finally made it to New York, after more miles of driving than Vanessa ever wanted to endure with her mother again. It was hour after hour of interrogation, about things that shouldn't have been irritating Vanessa but did anyway. Tony Stark taking her to prom had practically made her the belle of the ball, but she knew for certain that it was a one-hit wonder; of course, Allison _was_redecorating Stark Tower, but the building was gigantic enough that it was far from inconceivable that Allison would not ever see him there. She'd had a wonderful night, and Vanessa would take it for what it was, nothing less and certainly nothing more.

By the time they reached the city, it was nightfall, and the lights of New York were lit up in full-force, pounding into Vanessa's sleepy eyes mercilessly and without restraint. She felt herself tear up; she would have been leaving for college anyway, but it wasn't it just grand that she had to leave a few months early and that her mother suddenly had a new job in the city where Columbia was located, when Vanessa had gone to New York only to get away from her mother? She hadn't been expecting to leave Seattle when she did, and tearing open the wound unexpectedly had been painful.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, jerking her out of what had become an inner-mind-theater, and Vanessa pulled it out of her pocket as if it were a rattlesnake. She didn't know the number, but she knew that the area code wasn't Seattle, and she raised an eyebrow at the text.

**Find New York City all right?**

There was a brief pause before Vanessa's fingers flew across the keyboard of her phone.

**Depends on who's asking.**

The girl sent the message and waited roughly five minutes before receiving a response.

**I'll find out whether you tell me or not; you keep forgetting, my dear, that Tony Stark always knows what he needs to.**

It took everything in Vanessa's power to not start cackling at that very moment. This had to be a dream. There was absolutely no other explanation.

**Yes, I made it, Tony. And how did you get my number, exactly?**

She wasn't sure she wanted the answer to that "how" question - certainly he had connections in places Vanessa couldn't even imagine.

**Don't you **_**know**_** who I am?**

* * *

Dr. Henry (known also as Hank) Pym had been experimenting in robotics for a little while, now, working with artificial intelligence; he was a man of many talents, having been wanted as part of the Avengers Initiative only to have his offer rescinded on grounds of mental instability and tendencies toward schizophrenic breaks and dissociative turns of heart. Some of his predecessors, though had made serious breakthroughs in high-intelligence robots. Hank Pym, though, had done something that would have backlash that none could have predicted.

With a copy of his own brain patterns (which were nothing at which to be scoffed) as the blueprint, Pym had programmed an incredibly structurally simple robot to an intellectual level that had never before been seen; Pym had implanted his creation with his intelligence, but not only had this machine inherited his intellect.

The robot came alive, and with its sentience, it also inherited all of Pym's less-than-stellar mental faculties; the very reasons that Pym had been cast out of the Avengers Initiative were fundamentally ingrained in the robot that would become Ultron.

"You've never created me. As far as I'm concerned, this never existed," the machine spoke, having managed to reach an immense mental capacity for not only knowledge, but emotion as well. "Abandon this lab."

This robot dubbed itself Ultron, and at every thought of Hank Pym he was filled with an irrational and inexplicable hatred, a black hole of emotion that could only be filled with Pym's destruction. Every destructive thought that Pym had had was magnified in Ultron by the lack of a human conscience, and Pym had been highly unstable.

He couldn't do it yet, not yet; he certainly wouldn't be able to fulfill his goal in such a lackluster body as the one that his "father" had given him, but Ultron would not be satisfied until he had annihilated Hank Pym.

Ultron realized quickly, though, that there was no satisfaction to be had when organic life was an unhealable sore in his sentience. Swelling with joy at his own resolve, Ultron resigned himself happily to his mission; mankind would be sent to mass graves, all by his own doing, and no one and nothing could stop him.

* * *

_"nobody said it was easy; no one ever said it would be so hard." - "the scientist," coldplay_

* * *

**oh hey lookit - i'm alive after all. really sorry it was such an obscenely long wait for this chapter. i hope it lived up to whatever obscenely low expectations you have for me as an authoress~**

**anywho, ultron - i haven't read the comics. i would love to, but i honestly don't have the capacity to right now, and so everything that i know comes from the marvel wiki. i really don't want to screw this up, so if any of you are really knowledgeable about the marvelverse, shoot me a review and say, "hey, lex? you're blowing it. fix this and this and that and you pass by the skin of your teeth."**

**thank you so much for reading. hope you enjoyed. you're the best. xxx :)**


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